“Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?”
Mark 4:41
Reading this question that Jesus’ disciples ask one another after he calms a storm that overtakes them while they are crossing the Sea of Galilee often takes me back to the sanctuary of Ventura Community Presbyterian Church sometime in 1978. I was listening to Darrell Johnson preach a sermon on this text. That weekend I took a break from my studies at UCLA, drove up the coast to spend some time with my mom and stepdad and we went to church on Sunday. I can still hear Darrell’s voice asking the question as he repeated this part of the text several times in his sermon.
The calm waters answered one of the disciples’ questions: “Teacher, don’t you care that we are perishing?” But it also raised this second question: “Who are you?” And it’s this second question that fuels the discipleship journey. As we follow Jesus, we never really stop working with it. It just keeps coming up. Who are you, Lord? Who are you and what difference does that make in my life? Who are you and who am I? Why do I get to experience this? What does this experience of following you tell me about my life in this world?
Bumper stickers, bookmarks and billboards love to proclaim: “The Answer is Jesus.” But I think the real power in Jesus’ ministry, both then and now, is that his presence, his actions, and his words occasion lots of questions. I believe he is, indeed, the answer. Yet the reason I know him to be this is because he has invited me to work with so many good questions. It’s those questions that keep us going. The hunger to know more about this one who has captivated us, intrigued us, angered us, and above all else stuck with us despite all the reasons we’ve given him to roll his eyes and walk away, is the reason we keep following.
There is comfort that comes in the wake of the disciples’ first question. The roiling sea that they feared would take their lives was calmed. They relaxed. “Oh, wow, he does care whether or not we perish.” Yet soon after another question occurs to them that stirs up all sorts of feelings within them. The same one who makes it safe to be in the boat, now himself feels a little unsafe. And part of what lies underneath that second question is some thought about whether they want to continue to hang out with him once they get to the other side. He is, after all, now a bit scary.
Part of the reason I so vividly remember that sermon I heard in 1978 is that it got me thinking about a Jesus who was more complex, more interesting, one who made me curious, one who I wanted to follow. It got me thinking about the Jesus who feels a bit dangerous because he is alarmingly direct in his encounters with us. He gets us to ask questions we might not otherwise ask and as such invites us to deal with truth about him and about ourselves that we might not otherwise engage.
The answer is indeed relationship with this one in whom all things cohere, but we won’t know that if we don’t take the risk of stumbling along behind him and working with all of those disturbing questions he invites us to ask. I think what happened for me that day I heard Darrell’s sermon, was that Jesus started to be more than a divine being who long ago solved the problem of sin by dying on a Roman cross. He became a living Lord who was inviting me to consider and live an abundant life right now. Who are you, Lord, and who am I?
David Rohrer
3/2/22